


Sight Unseen

by kay_emm_gee



Series: the kids aren't alright (The 100 tumblr prompts) [22]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hospital, Alternate Universe - Military, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Doctor/Patient, F/M, First Dates, Hospitals, Military
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-27
Updated: 2015-05-27
Packaged: 2018-04-01 11:37:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4018288
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kay_emm_gee/pseuds/kay_emm_gee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt: Bellarke au prompt where Bellamy is on his third tour when he gets injured and Clarke happens to be the army medic that patches him up</p>
<p>Summary: Dr. Clarke Griffin is a professional, and professionals do not have crushes on their patients, and they certainly don't act on them. Sergeant Bellamy Blake, however, is proving to be a challenge for her, especially when she overhears some information that lets her know she isn't alone in her feelings.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sight Unseen

Clarke was a professional, really she was. Two years serving as a doctor in the army in Afghanistan had prepared her for practically anything, so working at the rehabilitation center back in the States should’ve been a breeze. What she hadn’t counted on, however, was having as feisty patients as Private Reyes and Sergeant Blake.

“I said the cup’s on your left, Cornflake.  _Your_ left.”

“Fuck off, Reyes, I’m blind if you haven’t noticed. And stop calling me Cornflake.”

“I have noticed, you uncoordinated idiot. That’s why I’m trying to help you, but maybe your deaf as well as blind, because you can’t seem to understand simple directions like  _left_  and  _right_.”

Clarke smothered a laugh at the conversation behind her, not wanting to encourage either of her patients. Reyes was a handful all on her own, in rehab for a spinal injury after not getting clear of an IED in time. She was a combat engineer, because she liked to  _make things go boom, you know, just not usually when I’m in the way_ , or so she had informed Clarke with a broad, confident smile at their first meeting. Sergeant Blake, however, had been less forthcoming with personal details. All Clarke knew about him was what was in his medical file (one broken arm during childhood, a sprained ankle during basic, vaccinations all up to par) and that he had been on his third tour when a bomb had gone off and sent shrapnel into his eyes, leaving him temporarily blind.

“Reyes, just hand me the goddamn cup.”

“Sure thing,” Reyes relented. “Cornflake.”

Keeping her hands busy gathering new bandages was the best Clarke could do to distract herself from the mildly hilarious way Blake started swearing at Reyes, grumbling even as he presumably accepted the glass of water she was offering. She wasn’t quite sure how the nickname had come about, but Blake was from the Midwest, and Raven liked to rhyme, so, yeah, probably something like that.

Not that it was any of her business, though; they were just her patients, nothing more. Clarke was supposed to care about their physical and mental wellbeing, but they weren’t her friends, weren’t hers to get to know beyond basic pleasantries. It was odd, because she knew their bodies extremely well, but beyond that, they should be strangers.

It was harder to maintain that distance with these two however, because despite their hardships, they were brimming with life. Sure, they were cranky and argumentative most of the time, but Clarke much preferred that to seeing them dip into depression and defeat. They were fighters, and would keep on fighting. She admired that about them.

“Dr. Griffin, Blake’s wet himself again.”

“I swear to fucking god, Reyes.”

When Clarke turned around, she bit back a smile at the way Blake was scowling at Reyes, who was grinning back at him in return. The cup was on the floor—he must have dropped it—and much of Blake’s shirt was wet from the spilled water. Walking over, Clarke picked up the cup, tossing a towel at Sergeant Blake so he could clean up. While he wiped himself off, she rooted in his nightstand for a dry shirt. She finally found one of his favorites— _okay, so, maybe she knew him better than she should—_ and stood up only to be greeted by the sight of him shirtless less than foot away from her.

Her throat went dry, and she felt her cheeks flushing.  _Stop it_ , she admonished herself silently as her mind raced. She’d seen plenty of soldiers half-naked, some even completely naked, and it had never been a problem. Sergeant Blake, however, was proving to be her downfall though, all sleek muscles and dark skin. As he cocked his head at her in confusion, the bandage still wrapped tight around his eyes, she nearly groaned at how much her professionalism was taking a hit.

“Um, here you go,” she replied quietly as she handed over the shirt, hoping to all the deities that her voice sounded more even to his ears than her own.

His fingers brushed against hers briefly, and it sent a tingling sensation up her arm.  _Get a grip_ , she thought frustratedly, even as he quirked a small smile at her in return.

“Thanks,” he murmured before pulling the shirt over his head. It got stuck for a second, and Clarke reached out awkwardly to help, but really had no idea where to put her hands. They hovered in the air while he struggled, and by the time she had pulled herself together, he had managed to get the shirt on all by himself.

“Gold star for Cornflake, he can dress himself,” Reyes snickered from behind Clarke.

“Go fuck yourself, Reyes,” Blake grumbled, leaning to the side address his roommate. “Sorry,” he muttered afterwards to Clarke. “That was rude.”

“I’ve heard worse,” Clarke replied with a light laugh, squeezing his arm reassuringly. He shifted under her touch and she quickly pulled away, her face growing warm because  _she shouldn’t have done that._

As Reyes began needling Blake again, Clarke slipped out of the room, wondering where her composure had gone. It wasn’t until she was back in the break room that she realized she hadn’t even gotten the information from their charts that she had originally gone in their room for. She’d look silly going back now, so she’d just have to go back a little later.

* * *

Later, however, turned out to be three hours past the official end of her shift, because Murphy had pawned off three of his patients on her, the inconsiderate ass. She was so exhausted that she had changed, packed up her stuff and got all the way to the exit before remembering about her forgotten task. Sighing, she reasoned that she could probably leave without going back to Reyes’ and Blakes’ room. No one would know the wiser—except she belatedly remembered that Dr. Wick, Reyes’ physical therapist, was prone to stop by at random times and would need that information. So, with another tired exhale, she made her way back to the patient wing through the now quiet, mostly empty halls.

As she approached their room, though, a soft murmur of voices wafted out. She kept walking, but just a few feet before she got to the door, she heard her name.

“Reyes, give it a damn rest. If you bring up Dr. Griffin one more time, I swear, I’m going to ask for a room switch. I’m not fucking kidding.”

“Such a baby! I was just teasing.”

The weary defeat in Blake’s tone and the snarky but also contrite one in Reyes’ voice made Clarke pause.  _Just knock_ , her professional side urged, but her curiosity won out so she remained outside, waiting for them to continue.

“Oh god,” Reyes commented, letting out a soft chuckle. “You actually  _do_ like her. Like, for real.”

“Raven,” Blake growled.

“Honestly, I was just giving you a hard time—I didn’t know I was right.”

Her following satisfied laugh was quickly cut off by a dull thump, and then she said, “Now I have your pillow, idiot. I’m not giving it back.”

“I don’t care,” Blake muttered.

A short silence followed before Reyes sighed. “Turn back over Blake.”

He didn’t respond, and Clarke finally registered the heated blush that had crept up her cheeks while she was listening in. She pressed a hand over them repeatedly, also noticing she was smiling, and she really shouldn’t be, because he was her  _patient_ , and oh god, there were so many rules about this—and she was a professional, damn it.

“I’ll tell you what she looks like if you turn over.”

“No.”

“God, you are such a baby—”

“No, I mean,” Blake said thickly, then sighed. “I just, my doctor said I’m making good progress getting my sight back—I could even make out shapes yesterday, and I just—I don’t know,” he mumbled, tapering off at the end.

“You want to wait and see her yourself.”

“I’m not that shallow. What she looks like, it’s not—”

“That’s not what I mean, dipshit. She’s—she’s something to look forward to. Trust me, Wick’s used the whole ‘find something to motivate yourself’ speech on me daily, even if I think his whole ‘happy mind, happy body’ shtick is bullshit, in your case, I get it.”

Blake didn’t say anything, but the silence itself spoke volumes to Clarke, and she reveled in the warm feeling the revelation sparked, the sweetness of it overwhelming her.

Then finally Blake let out a snort, which turned into a huff as another thump sounded in the room. “I thought you said you weren’t giving it back,” he commented dryly.

“Don’t ruin the moment, Blake. We’re bonding.”

“Well, if we’re bonding, let’s talk about you and Wick.”  

“Nothing to talk about,” Reyes grumbled.

A loud laugh rolled out of Blake, followed by swearing from Reyes.

“And that right there tells me everything I need to know,” he teased.

“Fuck you, Cornflake.”

As they continued to banter back and forth, Clarke slowly backed down the hall, admitting that she was too flustered to even think about going into the room that night.

* * *

As it turned out, she was too flustered the whole next week to round on them, asking Harper to do it instead. She spent the next seven days nervous, unsettled—she still blushed every time she recalled the overheard conversation, for god’s sake—and it pissed her off. She was a  _professional_ , and this was rookie behavior. By the next week, she had had enough. So, after changing out of her scrubs at the end of her next shift, she strode determinedly into Reyes’ and Blakes’ room, not knowing exactly what she was going to do or say, but that something had to be done.

Reyes gave her a speculative look that turned gleeful when Clarke raised her eyebrows at the engineer. With a barking laugh, she hobbled off the bed, grabbing her crutches.

“I’m going to go take a walk,” she said dryly.

Clarke flashed her a smile in thanks, which drew another chuckle out of Reyes.

“Uh, hello?” Blake asked, swinging his legs over the edge of his bed.

The way his face twisted in confusion was endearing, and as Clarke looked at him—the freckled face, the broad shoulders, the messy curls—she felt her frustration drain away, leaving a hesitant awkwardness behind, because  _what the hell was she doing._

“Hi,” she finally said, a bit shyly.

“Oh,” Blake exhaled, his lips curving into a warm smile as he recognized her voice, which had Clarke’s stomach flipping in nervous excitement. “Hi, Dr. Griffin. Didn’t know it was you.”

“Yeah, it’s me.”

When she didn’t continue, he laughed, shifting on the bed a bit. “So, what did you need?”

She opened her mouth, but really  _what did she need_. She didn’t know, so she ambled to the end of his bed, grabbing his chart to look at, because she needed to do something other than just stand there helplessly. As she flipped through the notes, she sensed Blake turning towards her, because even if he couldn’t see her, he still kept his attention on her.

Finally, something caught her eye.

“You have a discharge date?” She asked, her heart falling a bit, because  _he was leaving?_

“Uh, yeah. Kane said I’m doing really well with my therapy, and if I keep making the same type of progress, I’ll be out of here in two weeks. I mean, I’ll be coming back eventually for a follow-up, but by then I should be able to see enough to manage on my own.”

“That’s—wonderful,” she commented softly, trying to keep the disappointment out of her voice. As he murmured an agreeing thanks, Clarke looked back down at the chart, staring at the date listed. As her eyes ran over the numbers again and again, a thought suddenly struck her, and she smiled.

“So you’re getting discharged March 19th.”

“Yup.”

“What are you doing March 20th?”

Blake let out a little laugh. “Uh, I have no idea?”

“Do you want to get dinner?”

“What?”

Relief flooded through Clarke at the way his face lit up in delight. After sliding his chart back into place, she rounded the edge of the bed, coming to stand in front of him, probably closer than she should.

“I said,” she continued lightly, smiling. “Do you want to get dinner? I’d ask for earlier, but there’s this whole not-dating-patients rule, but now that you have a discharge date—”

“Yes,” he said quickly. “Definitely yes to the 20th.”

She laughed, then rested a hand on his knee, which he reached over to cover with his own. As he laced their fingers together, the door banged open, and Reyes crutched into the room, grinning broadly.

“About damn time,” she commented. “Now can we stop all the awkwardness? It’s kind of draining, especially for the spectator, just so you know.”

“Sure thing,”  ~~Blake~~  Bellamy relented, too easily, Clarke noticed. Apparently Reyes did too, if the way she narrowed her eyes was any indication.

“What did you do, Cornflake?”

“Nothing,” he said, a smug grin on his face. “Just had a chat with Wick earlier.”

Reyes sent him a seething glare, but he just laughed.

“You’re such a dick,” she grumbled, hopping back onto the bed.

“And yet you’re still rooming with me.”

“Clarke is really hot, by the way. Like, hottest blonde I’ve ever seen. Just figured you should know.”

Blushing, Clarke felt Bellamy’s hand tighten on her own. When she looked back at him, she chuckled under her breath, because a red flush was crawling up his neck, and he shifted in embarrassment. Feeling brave, she leaned over and pressed a quick peck of a kiss onto his cheek before whispering, “I’ll see you on the 20th.”

“It’s a date,” Bellamy replied firmly, squeezing her hand one more time before she pulled away and left the room, the sound of Reyes’ and Blake’s bantering following her down the hall.

* * *

Bellamy did indeed see her, for the first time, on the twentieth. His face softened in awe as she walked up to him, wearing that navy blue dress that she knew did wonderful things for both her curves and her eyes.

“Damn it,” he swore when she stopped right in front of him, expression turning just a little bit frustrated.

With a laugh, she looked up at him curiously. “What?”

“I hate it when Reyes is right.”

Recalling the engineer’s blunt compliment from a few weeks ago, Clarke laughed, loving the way his eyes lit up with amusement and heat in response. They were brown, and so very warm, and as he walked her into the restaurant, she was suddenly very glad she hadn’t seen them until tonight, because with him having eyes like that, she wouldn’t have made it through the first day with him without doing something entirely  _un_ professional.


End file.
